Dark Territory
by Abandon Structure
Summary: Alternate universe companion piece to Toy Soldiers and Bohica. Follows Dominic, leader of the Syracuse Alpha Squad where survival isn't a game but a way of life and every transgenic is just a pawn in some madman's game.
1. Chapter 1

**March, 2001**

He was scared, terrified even, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as his hearing strained to pick up even the slightest of noises, but the only sound that filled his ears was the frantic beat of his own heart.

When they'd pulled him from training this morning, he had been expecting a trip to the labs, an experiment or a shot of sorts. When they'd deposited him in this dank pit, ten feet down with jagged glass lining the walls and a trap door that was too high for him to reach, he'd screamed.

He'd been screaming for hours but nobody was listening and even if they were, nobody had come.

He couldn't understand why he was here. Only bad soldiers got punished and he hadn't been a bad soldier…had he?

What had he done wrong? Was he too slow? Not smart enough or strong enough? Had he violated his training in some way or done something contradictory to some protocol he couldn't remember?

He had no answers, only questions, questions that did nothing to alleviate his fears.

He knew he was crying and he knew he wasn't supposed to be. That had been one of the lessons that had been taught to them in the labs before they'd even begun to train.

"You're a soldier, 563," a guard had barked at him, striking him across the face with a sneer. "Soldiers don't cry. Only fucking pussies cry. Are you a pussy, 563?"

"NO, SIR!" He had shouted, cheek stinging from the blow and eyes watering, but he held back the tears and kept his eyes front exactly like they had been taught.

He didn't know what the guards words meant, only that a pussy was not a soldier and since 563 was a soldier, he couldn't be one.

He didn't understand a lot of things, but he was young still. He'd interacted with one of the X4's who'd called him a 'kid' and had informed him that he didn't know anything before marching away.

_I really am stupid_, 563 concluded, head buried in his arms and he sniffed away his tears.

_I'll be better, _he promised himself, wiping at his face with the sleeves of his gown and straightening upright. _They'll never have to put me back here again._

Lesson learned, he stayed straight and alert, signifying that he that he _had_ learned his lesson, but the hours passed and still nobody came.

At some point in time hunger hit, then thirst, then exhaustion, but still he sat.

Time passes in immeasurable moments when you're alone in the dark and by the time the light came, 563 was unconscious.

* * *

**September, 2001**

His terror was greater this time, his memories fresh and vivid of his last stint in the dark.

"I didn't do anything!" He screamed up at the faceless people on the other side of the door. "I'm a good soldier! I didn't do anything!"

But nobody listened and nobody cared and he was left a shaking mess in the bottom of a cold, dirty pit.

"I'm a good soldier, I'm a good soldier, I'm a good soldier," he mumbled to himself, arms wrapped tightly around his legs and he stared sightlessly into the abyss and rocked himself into a mind-numbing stupor.

This time when they came he awake but completely unresponsive.

* * *

**January, 2002**

He was silent as he landed on cats paws at the bottom of the pit. He didn't look up, didn't shout, didn't plead, simply settled in the middle space and waited.

He tried to count the seconds, but there were so many even his superior mind couldn't keep track.

When they let him out this time, he climbed on his own, heedless of the cuts he received from the glass.

The sergeant barely paid him any attention as he was dismissed.

Still, he paused at the door, turning to face the sergeant, expression lost.

"What did I do wrong?" The sergeant's lips pulled down in a frown, annoyance on his expression as he stared at the child soldier.

"You exist," came the scathing reply. "That's reason enough."

* * *

**April, 2002**

He judged the passing of the days by the dirt on his skin. If there were clean patches, he hadn't been there long enough. When he was finally covered in dirt and smelling so badly his nose went numb, there was a fifty percent chance they'd let him out.

They'd waited the last time, though. They'd shoved him down here with a small bleeding cut and by the time they'd dragged him out, there were bugs and maggots crawling out of the infected wound.

The doctors had been curiously detached, poking and prodding him before deciding – with a shrug – that even X5's had their limits.

563 didn't understand limits anymore. The only thing he understood was the quiet – the endless hours left alone with nothing and nobody to comfort you.

This time when he returned to his squad, he shrugged off their arms. He embraced no one, responded to nothing. There was only the mission, the next order.

There was only the dark and the creeping quiet.

* * *

**June, 2002**

374 curled onto her side, staring sightlessly off into space, the every appearance of a traumatized child on the outside but inside – inside her mind was racing.

She didn't know what she had done wrong and she was trying – desperately – to figure it out. Her mind was spitting answers at her and rejecting them as quickly as they arrived.

Perhaps her boots weren't clean enough.

_863's boots were dirtier._

Perhaps her range scores weren't high enough.

_793's were worse._

Maybe she'd violated protocol.

_Everything was the same, though. _

Her reactions – her squads reactions – they had all been identical.

So why was she here then?

This was her seventh trip this year. She'd learned the futility of screaming and crying for mercy. She'd learned the unfairness, the raging inconsistencies of life, that whirled around her like ghosts – spirits in the dark that came to visit at random.

Most importantly, though, she'd learned patience.

She controlled her heartbeat now – her breathing, her pulse, waking and sleeping.

She'd mastered her own body, pushed herself beyond normal limits.

She could see in the dark, smell, taste…but most importantly, she could hear.

It was small, faint, but there – another heartbeat, not her own, but equally as steady and unmoved by the passage of time.

It was nearby, close enough that she knew whoever it was was down in a pit like her.

She counted many minutes as they turned into hours, but she was dry throated, unable to decide how to approach this other person.

Would they even hear her?

* * *

There was another X5 down here – he could smell the faint scent through the dirt walls.

He didn't recognize her, but her scent was faint in his pit letting him know that whoever she was, she'd been down here before.

The calm of heartbeat so easily matching his own let him know that she'd been down here plenty of times before.

He didn't track the minutes or hours, but he'd been listening to her heartbeat for a while. Laying on his side, he tentatively, carefully placed a hand against the dirt of the wall and instead of listening or seeing – he _felt_.

The hair on the back of her neck shifted, not exactly going up, but rustling as an instinctive awareness brushed at her attention.

Reaching over, she tentatively set her fingers against the dirt of the wall and when the connection seemed to strengthen, she pressed her hand fully against the dirt and let her eyes flutter close.

She was there and she knew he was here – he could almost feel the warmth of her hand against his own.

He could also feel her confusion – she no more knew why they were down here than he did.

Quietly they lay like this, a subtle warmth infusing both of them until the door was once more opened and they were dragged back into the world, neither one of them able to see the other ones face even for a moment. Still, 563 knew that if he ever met her again, he would know. Her essence was just as strong to him now as his own.

* * *

February, 2003

They lay quietly on their sides, fingers pressed roughly into the dirty, eyes closed as they silently, wordlessly communicated.

374 – that was her designation, carefully tapped against the dirt – was hungry. He could feel the emptiness in her stomach almost as certainly as he could feel his own.

She'd been down here three days before him, but she hadn't been alone.

There was another X5, designation unknown, in the pit bordering both of theirs. He was loud, angry almost, and violent.

And scared.

But he was quiet now – undoubtedly unconscious.

At least, that's what 563 thought until he heard it – a thump against the dirt wall that had his eyes opening, his head instinctively jerking around to face the noise.

He could feel 374's curiosity and sent back a wave of intent as he shifted upright, crawling on hands and knees till he reached the point where their three pits intersected before carefully pressing his hand back into the dirt and _reaching._

* * *

256 recoiled from the brush, his hair standing on end, his heartbeat – which had yet to slow to a normal rhythm – revamping its speed and his breath once more came in harsh, staccato pantings that had him dizzy.

He didn't like this – didn't like the dark, enclosed spaces. He could feel the pressure of the underground and he could _taste _the wrongness of it all.

He wasn't supposed to be here. There was a note of truth to that one thought that had nothing to do with anything Manticore had done.

He'd felt the other two the second he'd entered the pits, but it'd been background noise – a fuzz in his thoughts.

Until exhaustion and hunger had made him weak and sent him to his knees.

Lying there, facedown in the dirt, he'd become aware of a faint link and connection that seemed to be emanating from their direction and curiosity had prompted him to drag himself closer to that strange warmth.

But when the warmth brushed against him – unexpectedly and unwanted – he panicked again.

374 was distressed and so was the other X5 and 563 was frantic as he tried to retain control over the connection that had been tentatively formed, but the other X5 was fighting it tooth, nail, claw, and with everything else that he had.

_Stop it!_

374 didn't use words, but the intent was at a shouted decibel and the other X5 immediately ceased his actions, his attention wavering from 563's brush to 374's gentler warmth.

256 brushed his hand against the dirt where the female was lying, eyes blinking wide in the darkness as he felt her brush back and that other connection – the one with the male – settled over both of them like a warm blanket.

It could have been minutes or hours or even days, but under the influence of the two warm minds, 256's eyes fluttered and closed and finally he drifted into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

**May 2003**

There were more of them now.

563 had tried to keep track of the pits once, but he'd learned that this wasn't the only room they were contained in.

He wondered if the entire basement had holes dug into it – deep pits of broke glass and rusty nails and space that was starting to get smaller with each passing moment.

374 wasn't here but that didn't mean she wasn't in the pits – she could be in another room. The tentative connection they had seemed to only work when they were in close quarters.

256 – the frantic male they'd met almost eight months ago – was.

He was leaning against the dirt wall, back to back with 563, the faint warmth of the other X5 bring comfort to each of them.

By his count, there were eleven other X5's in the pits around them, but he didn't recognize any of them and neither did 256 which made him wonder if Manticore was singling out one member of each squad for this treatment.

No one else in his squad had ever been here – he'd never asked, but he could tell just by looking at them that they'd never experienced the gripping terror of having all your senses taken from you at once.

He wondered still, years after his first night in the pits, why. Why him? Why this? What purpose did it serve?

He was hardly the most effective soldier – he was in and out of the pits and the infirmary so much that he barely had time to train.

So what was Manticore planning? To what end was this means?

He was young but he was far from stupid and 563 knew with a gut deep certainty that whatever Manticore was trying to do here…no good would come of it.

* * *

**October 2003**

"On your feet, soldier." 563 obeyed the command automatically, mindlessly. Covered in dirt head to toe, shaking from hunger and exhaustion, he maintained his pose even as the door opened and other X5's came filing in.

They were all in the same condition as him, more or less – dirty, tired, and shell-shocked. It was with a start that he realized both 256 and 374 were among them.

He was curious now – obviously Manticore had taken all of the soldiers from the pits and brought them here – so what was going on?

"You have been selected for a special training program," the trainer at the front droned, eyes cold and unforgiving as he surveyed them carelessly. "From this moment on you have all been reassigned into this unit together. You will have no CO and no chain of command – you are all equals here. Do you understand what that means?"

"Yes, Sir!" 563 wasn't the only one who yelled his reply – even the most dim witted X5 knew that when the Trainer asked you a question like this, there was really only one logical response – but he was fairly certain he was one of the few who understood the implications.

No chain of command meant no authority and he could feel himself panicking slightly. With no one in charge, how were they going to know what to do? He'd been conditioned from the time he was one to obey orders and follow protocol but here, now, there didn't seem to be any of that.

"Fall in," came the barked order and 563 quickly fell in place, but there was a confused scramble as the X5's around him struggled to find their positions in line. 374 and 256 slid wordlessly in line behind him, but the rest of them…

* * *

**January 2004**

563 hit the dirt and lay there, barely breathing as he waited for the order to get back to his feet.

He'd figured this was the purpose of their training – to give them orders they would blindly follow, but even he found this a little ridiculous. After falling down he was supposed to stay in his position until he was given permission to rise back up.

In a real battle, he'd be dead by now.

"On your feet, 563," was all he got five minutes after he hit the dirt. He didn't bother to brush away the grime – partially because he hadn't been given an order to do so and partially because it didn't matter. They'd removed them completely from the barracks now and 563 spent almost all of his nights either in one of the basement cells or back in the pits.

He'd spent so long in the dark he was actually starting to find it rather comforting. The dark, he'd learned, hid nothing – had nothing. There was no pain, no restlessness, no confusion – nothing that came with the daylight and the increasingly bizarre series of orders they were expected to follow.

He slid back into his place in line between 374 and 256, keeping his blank gaze forward as another X5, 888, was called forward to demonstrate the move once again, as if they hadn't picked up on it the first time.

Next to him 256 shifted with restless energy and he could feel 374 reaching around him to sooth the other male.

So far their training had mostly consisted of stupid orders and an increasingly literal definition of the term 'blind obedience', but there was something in the air, a spectre of sorts, that was almost taunting them.

As faint as his memories of his first night in the pit were, he could remember this feeling right before he'd fallen in – completely and utter despair.

He knew some of the other X5's in this group thought this was it – they were all smart, all genius's as a matter of fact – so even the most dimwitted among them had figured out exactly what Manticore wanted from them months ago.

It was just…

563 knew what they had wanted then but he had no idea what they wanted next, a thought which alarmed him deeply.

* * *

**February 2004**

He was choking on his own blood, staring in horrified fascination at the stick protruding from his stomach. Vaguely, almost like it was coming from some far away place, he heard a keening wail that kept echoing in his skull.

Over and over it screamed at him to get up, to keep moving, to fight – goddamnit!

_Fight?_ He licked his cracked lips, barely wincing as the gesture re-opened wounds he'd forgotten he had, his eyes trying to focus on that screaming voice.

It was like coming out off of a concussion in reverse – instead of two becoming one, one became two and he blinked as the figures struggled to differentiate one from another in his field of perception.

_374,_ his mind identified the female easily enough, tripping for a moment before recognizing the male. _256._

But what was 256 doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be with the second team on the other side of the base?

He opened his mouth to ask that question only to choke – literally choke – on his words, bringing about a hacking cough that left blood specklings on both of the other X5's.

"Keep moving!" 256 ordered, practically yelled at him and he found himself waking up just a little bit at the near hysterical plea contained within those two words.

He was starting to worry now – about the blood, about the branch in his chest, about the way 374 was struggling not only with 256's weight, but with his own as well.

_Am I dying?_

It was strange – strange, strange, strange.

He almost wanted to laugh, but another explosion, faintly in the distance, had him stumbling and it was with a pained cry that 374 regained balance for all of them before grimly pressing onward.

"Wha' happe'd?" He managed to slur out, the pain catching up leaving him sweating and bleeding and wheezing all at the same time.

"You were stabbed," 374 bit out in reply, sounding absolutely wrathful. "By another X5."

"Who?" He knew the designations of all the X5's in their squad – thirty-eight in total, an unprecidently large amount for a unit. There were some that bore watching – in a group that large, there was always at least two – the main dunce and his or her sidekick – but he'd never entertained the idea that any of them were do something like this.

"I don't know," came the terse reply. "They're not ours."

"Not ours," 563 repeated the words through half-numb lips, his mind struggling in circles to wrap a loop around this particular thought and why it was so important, but suddenly his entire body felt like lead had been poured into his bones and he was so tired…

"Stay awake!" 374 was screeching at him when he blinked and five minutes passed. "I mean it, 563! You stay the hell awake!"

That sort of desperation sounded strange to 563 – strange because it was 374 and strange because he'd heard the trainers yell this desperate sort of plea on a couple of occasions but they'd never struck the chord that 374 had struck in him. It was a gut deep reaction that had his eyes opening wide, focusing on her face, watching her desperation turn to grim determination.

"Right, come on," she instructed, looking over her shoulder to where 256 was propped against a tree as she struggled with all her might to get 563 back on his feet, his weak attempts at helping her barely doing just that. "We've got a half a click to the rally point and snipers in the trees."

A bullet pinged in the bark next to 256's head and it was a testament to how exhausting and mind-numbingly terrifying his day had already been that he barely even flinched as the slivers dug their way into the side of his face.

"Let's move!"

* * *

_Sixteen dead._

563 stared up at the ceiling of the infirmary, his mind struggling to grasp this concept.

_Sixteen dead._

Sixteen people he was never going to see again.

Even without painkillers he was numb.

There was no explanation for the events and no remorse – he didn't really understand why he expected something so basic from the coldest people he'd ever met, but a reaction would have been the least of it.

Instead he'd been woken up, informed of the loss along with the eleven others occupying the infirmary.

Their instructions had been simple after that: two days in recovery before returning to training regardless of their conditions, some of which were approaching near epically bad conditions.

563's wound was healing slowly enough that a doctor had wandered in a few hours ago, injecting him with something that made his skin itch badly enough for them to use the restraints.

He gritted his teeth against the burning pain and refocused his attention on the X5's on either side of him.

256 was awake, aware, and completely quiet as he stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of 563's gaze and quickly turning to look at him.

"Who?" was 563's simply question.

"004," 256 answered without hesitation, voice devoid of emotion even as his insides clenched as the memory of the petite X5's body coming apart after stepping on a land mine replayed over in his head.

"308 and 321," another X5, 607, stated simply, eyes steady as they stared at 563. "Snipers."

_Goddamn fucking snipers._ 563 could recall in vivid detail the bullet that had scooped past him, sending him tumbling downwards even as he heard the sickening sound of flesh rending as 256 tumbled down after him.

His gaze strayed back over to 256 but the other X5 has his attention firmly fixated elsewhere, unwilling to share his recollection of the memory.

"844 and 542 were…" 508 trailed off, swallowing thickly as he hastily turned his attention to the wall, unwilling to add to the tears already dried on his skin.

They ran down the list, each account ending with the trailing off of a sentence or the harsh, gut churning reality of something gone wrong. In the end there were only a few who had escaped with injuries minor enough to have already been released from medical.

374 was among them and sitting in bed, 563 hated the belts lashing him to the bed even more for keeping him away from her, leaving her to deal with this nightmare on his own.

Heart racing and breath threatening to whimper out of his chest, it took everything he had to keep from screaming as he turned and locked his gaze on 256.

There was a mutual agreement in that gaze, a determination that no matter what, no matter how, they'd fucking survive this bitch because that was the only fucking way they'd be strong enough to make them pay.

* * *

**June, 2005**

"Fucking useless." The kick was fully expected and fully impacted, sending 921 skittering back towards the wall. Nobody in line flinched as his head hit with a sickening crack, not even 921.

A now intimately familiar angry gaze bore down on all of them from above and 563 didn't have to turn to know that Director Martinez was watching.

This was his fucking brainchild and if he had planned it he couldn't have fucked it up more.

"Useless," the sentiment was echoed by Lydecker as he surveyed the sorry mess in front of him.

The idea had been great in theory but in practice…

Lydecker was smart, approaching genius, but you only needed half a brain to determine that the whole idea was going to go AWOL the second Martinez had executed it.

The conditions of depravity the twenty-two kids in front of him had been put through had all been for a greater purpose, a noble ideal gone horror-film perfect in the wake of Martinez's monumental mismanagement.

A full compliment of soldiers, an entire squad perfectly obedient to Manticore's core regime – they were suppose to be the overseers, the soldier's soldier – the shock troops sent in if another facility ever went awry – case and point being the fuckery in Seattle with Shepherd.

Problem was these kids had taken to the training too literally.

They didn't do anything without an order – not even taking a shit. And if somebody hit them they went down and stayed down if nobody told them to get back up.

Lydecker sorely wanted to say that the kids were fucking with them – that they'd figured out the purpose of their training and turned it around on their masters, but one glance kept him from making the statement.

These kids were straight up fucked – their eyes were dead, their bodies beat. They were walking zombies, barely functioning on par with anything human let alone something as great as an X5.

Martinez was coiled tighter than a snake next to him because he already knew what Lydecker was going to say.

"Pull the plug," was the gruff order. "Send them back to Psy-Ops for reindoctrination and then reintegrate them with the regular units."

Martinez said nothing and Lydecker turned on him in an instant, eyes flashing ominously in warning.

"Do you understand me, soldier?" It was low and degrading referring to the director of another a facility – a man almost equal to him in rank – as a lowly grunt, but the point was there between them: Lydecker had the power and control and in the wake of Shepherd, Martinez, even operating with half a brain, knew better than to challenge it.

"Yes," he stated, purposely leaving off the sir both as an insult and a not-so-subtle reminder that while Brass seem to favor Lydecker, they still held equitable rank and like fuck was Martinez rolling over for him.

Lydecker smiled grimly but let it pass, turning his attention back to the yard below and wincing as yet another X5 went crashing down and remained inert until an exasperated Trainer finally ordered him back to his feet.

_Dumb stupid fuck,_ Lydecker thought to himself not for the first time as he headed for the exited, eager to return to his facility and get away from this slop heap.

Behind him, Martinez studied the squad below him, trembling with barely suppressed rage as he contemplated the disaster below him – a shitstorm piled directly on his head.

Reaching for the phone on the desk next to him, he punched in a long-ago memorized number, waiting for the clicking and entering his code before somebody picked up on the other end of the line.

"It's me," he stated simply. "We need to talk."

* * *

563 woke up in the back of a van, barely secured upright. Next to him 607 was unconscious and across from him 439 was grim faced as she stared directly at him.

He made no effort to ask her what was going on and she made no effort to try and tell him, both of them instead exchanging one glance before letting their gazes stay in opposite directions.

After about five minutes 607 let out a low moan and slowly managed to open his eyes. 563 watched him take in the situation with a blank face before straightening upright and copying his counterparts.

Mentally 563 started keeping track of the twists and turns of the road, his curiousity – long dormant – idly roused as they went from pavement to rough road. He'd been in his fair share of trucks moving from one end of the training grounds to the other, but he'd never been on this particular road.

After about fifteen minutes of rough travel the vehicle started to slow before coming to a jarring stop. 563 waited as the engine turned off, eyes fixated on the canopy just beyond 439's head as he heard a door open and boots hit the ground, crunching stones and leaves underneath as they approached the back.

"Alright," an unfamiliar face poked his way into the back, expression empty as he took them in. "On your feet and follow me."

Wordlessly and without thought, the three of them obeyed.

* * *

**September, 2005**

563 didn't know where he was. He didn't know the X5's on either side of him, didn't recognize any of the doctors hovering over him.

"There was an accident in one of the chem labs," a tech explained unnecessarily to them, expression almost bored as he went over their charts. "You've all had a reaction."

Other than general fuzziness 563 felt fine. Confused – naturally – but physically fit.

He didn't like it.

Next to him another X5 shifted, drawing his attention and eliciting another faint bout of puzzlement even as his expression remained perfectly blank. He wasn't sure why, but he knew that he couldn't let them see his emotions, couldn't even hint that he had them. It was an instinct integrated into the very fiber of his been.

The recognition was something else. He stared at the X5 next to him carefully, trying and failing time after time to recall where they'd met before and even his designation. The other X5's was just as blank-faced as him, but somehow 563 could tell he was trying – and failing – to do the same.

The female just beyond the other X5 shifted again, drawing both of their gazes once more as her eyes fluttered open and she turned, almost instinctively, to face them.

563 knew her – he recognized her almost viscerally – but inside his mind there was nothing – no designation, no memories, just blank empty space.

Something was horribly wrong.

A/N: This was major major foreshadowing, as in you probably won't get answers for the where 563 went until One, the title for the final stories in the series - about a hundred and something or more chapters away...if I ever get that far.

Any-ways: what did you think? Since this is the first in the series without any recognizable canon characters I had a bit of a hard time writing it so I'd really appreciate knowing whether or not it fits with the other two stories.


	2. Chapter 2

**November, 2005**

It was a hell of a debriefing.

Trainer Sims pursed his lips as he leaned back in his chair, eyebrow cocked slightly as he regarded his commanding officer with interest.

"It was a flop," Sims repeated back to Martinez. "And you want us to attempt replication on a grand scale?"

Martinez's lips twisted slightly at Sims less than respectful tone but let it pass – Sims was all blonde haired, laid back surfer on the outside but on the inside was a core of pure darkness. The first time Martinez had met Sims, he'd ripped apart one of the nomalies in the basement with his bare hands for 'looking at him funny.'

He was cold, ruthless, and exactly the person Martinez needed to get the job done.

"Ghost Squad was a failure on the whole," he agreed, hating the taste the words left in his mouth, "but the methodology stands."

Blind obedience had been the goal of Ghost Squad – a goal they had fallen far short of. But they'd seen positive results with many of the training scenarios they'd utilized and as such Martinez had pulled quite a few strings behind Lydecker's back to get his new training regime approved, but the order had finally gone through less than seventy-two hours ago.

"We're not working here to create the perfect soldier," Martinez stated. "We're creating the perfect killer. The current regime has demonstrated sympathy to human emotions that never should have been allowed to form in the first place."

"You want me to dehumanize them." It was a simple statement with no inflection whatsoever, as if they were talking about the weather rather than a training facility full of transgenics.

"They were never human in the first place," Martinez replied, his gaze fixating on the folder in front of him – the word 'Redux' staring right back – before raising his gaze to capture Sims in its depth. "We're just going to drive that point home."

There was a shitload of darkness there – soul deep and beyond – but it didn't scare Sims in the least.

It was almost like looking in a mirror.

His lips curved upwards into a smile.

"When do we start?"

* * *

**January, 2006**

021 shoved 927 further behind him even as 985 struggled to push 487 further up the muddied walls of the pit they'd been shoved into.

Dogs chained on the far side snarled, rabid froths dripping from their mouths as the scent of their hunger, of their complete and utter madness, permeated the air to mix with the keen stench of raw terror.

487 gave out a short scream as glass exploded less than two feet from her head – a makeshift IED that buried it's shrapnel into her skin, just missing her eyes thanks to 985's quick reflexes.

He pulled the smaller female down next to him, doing his best to hold her trembling form as the smell of fresh blood sent the dogs into a greater barking frenzy.

"It's kill or be killed," Sims had informed them cheerfully before dropping their naked bodies into the killing pits.

They'd only lost one member of their squad to the pits but it was one memory they would never forget. The raging snarls, the savage growls, and the shrieks of 795 as she was literally eaten alive…

021's body clenched, his teeth baring as he snarled right back at the dogs, coming to a crouch.

There was no way out of the pit – the glass had been the fourth IED to go off since they'd first tried to escape. They'd reached the top once only to have 927 fall back as a bullet just barely winged her temple – too close for comfort and close enough to make the point Command wanted made – kill or be killed.

Blood dripped down the side of 487's face as she stood, brushing against him, skin on skin. They'd taken their clothes before dropping them in here.

"Filthy animals don't fuckin' deserve 'em," Trainer Saunders had sneered. "You want 'em, earn 'em."

Earn through blood, earn them through sweat, earn them through death…

927 started forward but 021 turned on her, shoving her back to the ground, his message clear – stay put.

She was easily the smallest of them – so fucking tiny she could almost disappear. 487 wasn't much bigger but she'd be big enough, better able to survive the fight to come.

985 was right there with 487, the two of them crouched, waiting, identical snarls on their faces as they watched the dogs, asserted their own dominance, their own will to live…

021 shoved his hands in the dirt, dug his feet in to gain purchase, and growled.

It was kill or be killed and he had no intention of dying today.

With a snarl, he lunged.

A straight on attack was suicide – he was faster, smarter, and more agile than the dogs, but they had the right of might – their jaws would rip them to shreds.

He used his agility to his advantage, jumping and hitting the wall directly behind the dogs, using the leverage he gained – however momentary – to throw himself downwards on top of his target.

It was war from start to finish – gashes appeared and bled as the dogs claws raked against his bare skin. His hands struggled for purchase against the darting head and the mouth full of teeth dripping with blood, _his blood._

There was a scream and 021's attention snapped over to where 487 had retreated, holding her ravaged arm close, eyes rolling with the pain. A snarl shrieked past his lips as 927 – teeth bared – threw herself forward at the dog who had ripped into her packmate.

He didn't scream or order her away but redoubled his efforts against his own opponent until, with one last enraged yell there was a snap and then silence.

Another snap quickly followed and 021 moved forward with 985 at his back to rescue 927 only to skid to a halt at the sight in front of them.

_Devil child, _Trainer Randolph thought to himself as they dragged the last of the animals from the hole.

There'd been four in this one, four of those freaks and three of the dogs.

Two males and two females, all scratched up and bit but it was the fucking youngest that took the cake.

Two of the dogs were dead, snapped necks; military precision through and through. It was the third dog that had dragged Trainer Sims out here, away from his morning cup of coffee to this stinking cesspool of a training exercise.

The third dog had been eviscerated. Even now bits of entrails littered the ground. It would be fucking hell cleaning the rest of them from the pit. And the blood…

The blood would be easier to clean; all they had to do was hose the tiny female down.

It coated her skin, turning her usually pale complexion a vivid, fresh red. There was blood and flesh in her hair and dripping from her lips, buried under her finger nails. It was a fucking scene – straight-up flashback tripping – from a Stephen King Grade horror fiesta.

And there was Sims smiling, pretty as you please, looking like the cat who ate the fucking cream.

"Good," he stated, his eyes practically warm as he took in the blood, took in the horrifying freakshow in front of them. "It's a start."

* * *

The others were waiting for them in the shower area, two lines of twelve. 367 stood at the head of one line, 563 at the head of the other.

021 swept past them without a word, entering the shower first, practically pulling 927 along behind him.

"What happened?" 595 was the first to speak as the others came in after them.

"Pits," was 985's clipped reply, reaching for a wash clothe and some soap and joining 021 as they ducked 927 under the water.

She was shaking – a subtle tremor that radiated from her skin out – but they didn't have to look to be able to smell her fear, the stark sense of terror that hit with a backlash that had her legs crumbling.

271 was there, catching 927 as the first scream threatened to rip through the silence that surrounded them.

The water stung on their cuts and bruises but 021 and 985 worked with brisk efficiency to clean all the blood and other fluids off of 927's small form.

"You're clean," 021's voice was raspy, choked off with pain. "You're clean, 927. No more blood."

And still her small form shook with unheard screams and 271 kept the smaller female in her grip, her hand over her mouth and her body curled into the older females shoulder to further muffle the noise.

"What happened?" 563 repeated the question, eyes sharp as 021 turned to snarl at him.

"Dogs," 985 explained, rising to his feet and quickly scrubbing off his own layer of filth. "Three of them – we got two of them but one of them savaged 487's arm and 927 took it out."

"How?" 031, not the youngest but one them, asked, her mocha skin pale as she fought to accept that she already knew the answer to the question.

No one answered her.

"Clean up," 367 murmured quietly from where he stood near the entrance, eyes on the doorway, keeping watch.

563 was the first to move, turning from 927 to procure his own showerhead, away from the group.

021's eyes tracked him as he did so. 563 had only been in his squad a couple of months but from day one they all knew something was wrong with the other X5.

He'd been blank when the guards had dumped him – literally – in the barracks. Like 'nobody's home' blank not just 'out-to-lunch' as one of the base techs had put it.

The first day he'd been in their unit had been hell – for them and for him. Sims had a personal vendetta against 563 about something but damned if anybody knew what.

271 had asked 563 once and only once what he had done to make the most feared Trainer on sight hate him so goddamn much and the look 563 had given her in return…nobody asked him questions anymore.

Truth was, 021 had been watching him closely from that day and drawn his own conclusions. 563 was so fucked in the head – so worked over – that 021 was positive even he didn't remember.

"Guards," 367 interrupted his thoughts, darting into the main shower area and ducking under the water to reach down and help 271 haul 927 to her feet. The younger girl had stopped screaming but she was still shaking.

"Here," surprisingly it was 563 who moved, shoving himself under the showerhead next to 271, the two of them standing in front of 927, blocking her from direct line of sight.

The guards entered without warning, wearing sneers as one of them spit, barely missing 457 who bared her teeth in open aggression.

"Here," a third guard slung a form onto the floor, lip curling as it gave a painful whimper. "487 – all better now."

His gaze rose to take in the rest of them with a sneer.

"You've got five minutes before mess," he warned them. "If you're even a second late…"

He didn't have to finish the threat.

021 made damn sure to have his men assembled in four.

**A/N: **I'm really sorry this is taking so long. My younger sister suffers from major depression and she's...it's hard to write when you're constantly worried that somebody's going to do something stupid the second you're not paying attention.

Dark Territory, like I've said before, is a darker place than the other Manticores. I know what I want to happen up to 2008, but it's gonna take a little while to get there so bear with me. I know you probably really hate those words right about now considering how long you have to wait in between chapters but I promise I will finish this series. It'll just take longer than I thought it would. Thank you everybody who's poked, prodded, and begged for more. I'd definitely have given up if it wasn't for you guys. God bless.


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